


Bean Me Up

by actionkat



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Cultural Differences, Fluff, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Miscommunication, Touch Telepathy, Vulcan Kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9524219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actionkat/pseuds/actionkat
Summary: Somewhere in an alternate universe, Jim Kirk works in a coffee shop.In a world of bodiless aliens, illegal alcohol, toxic saliva, and tar flavored bean drink, having a crush on the cute Vulcan should have been the least strange thing that’s ever happened to Jim...It’s not his fault that it might lead him to having his face featured in the Guinness Book Of Galactic Records.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story isn’t TOS or AOS but about yet another alternate timeline where things went a little bit differently. The world is a bit closer to AOS (because it was easier to bend that world into a coffee shop AU), but the characters are characterized closer to TOS. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek (to my great disappointment), its characters, or any of the literature/music references.

“Who is that?”

Jim had been working at his friend’s coffee shop for almost six months now; ever since Scotty had scraped him off the floor of some dodgy bar ten miles away after he’d gotten into one of his weekly fist fights with the local Starfleet cadets. Scotty had found him face first on the ground with blood dripping down his face from multiple injuries, and Cupcake (as Jim had un-affectionately named him) laughing with his friends as they left the rundown building. You’d think that after a few years of this being a common occurrence that Jim would learn to stop hitting on the girlfriends/un-gendered/other gendered/boyfriends of men and aliens three times the size of him, but shockingly, he hadn’t. Until the night Scotty had found him, that is. 

Scotty had cleaned him up, while giving him a lecture about being the only genius in the world whose only claim to fame was his father’s name and his own criminal record. In the end, Scotty had offered him a job. He’d said, ‘you’ll never know if you don’t try’, and left Jim to his thoughts in the near empty bar with the pile of bloody tissues and his scotch.

So he did. The next week he called Scotty and took the job.

It paid off to be friends with a guy who owned a coffee shop with a liquor license and an attached engineering shop. He’d practically made Jim partial owner, preferring running the engineering side of his business, taking commissions and consulting for Starfleet, along with a few other Federation planet organizations. At one point he had even hinted at a consult job for Vulcan before taking off for a week for a ‘private matter’. This often left Jim in charge of things until Scotty got back, or even just when secretive engineer disappeared into the basement for weeks on end working on whatever new project struck his fancy, which was where he currently was.

McCoy looked up from the spiked coffee nestled between his hands. “Who’s what?” He grumbled, looking at Jim as he gazed out into the shop before bringing his gaze down to his friend. 

McCoy had just gotten off his shift at the hospital a few blocks down; it had been a long night. Not that it was unusual, as he was only one of three fully xeno-certified doctors in the immediate area. He hadn’t completely thought that through when he accepted the job at the closest hospital to Starfleet Academy, which often seemed to be the home to every damn species in the galaxy.

Jim nodded to the corner of the shop as he wiped down the counter, carefully avoiding McCoy’s coffee cup, he gestured at the table currently in use by a man with black shining hair in an almost bowl-cut, a PADD sitting in front of him, which he was typing on at record speed. He was dressed in typical Vulcan attire, grey and muted, yet stylish with the angled sweater layered with his clothing. Tinged green skin and pointed ears were obvious under the artificial lighting of the shop. 

“A Vulcan.” McCoy grumbled, taking a long sip from his drink, savoring the burn from the Andorian alcohol Jim had slipped into the latte for him.

Jim knew exactly what to make him based purely on the time of day he walked through the door. The shop didn’t even officially start serving alcohol until after noon, but Jim always broke out the good stuff when McCoy stepped in at nine after his night shift. It was why he kept coming back to the place, and also why he and Jim had become such close friends in the past six months.

He watched Jim roll his eyes. “Good thing you’re here to state the obvious. Otherwise I wouldn’t know up from down.”

“You’d’ve also died three times now from anaphylactic shock.” McCoy quipped, taking a long drink as he recalled the reason he kept a set of hypos on him at all times. If the Guinness Book Of Galactic Records had a section for most strange allergies someone can have at once, Jim would be famous. Well, if not for that bodiless species that can’t be visited due to what can best be described as an anaphylactic allergy to anything not from their planet. McCoy was always curious how they even came to join the Federation like that, but he supposed if an intergalactic war broke out with the Klingons, you never know who might be able to help.

He scoffed. “Yeah, you’re my hero, Bones.”

“Damn right, I am.” McCoy said. “Anyway, I don’t know who the guy is. Should I?”

Jim shook his head vaguely, tipping his head in concentration as he watched the Vulcan across the room. The Vulcan’s face was free of any emotion as he typed away at his PADD, pausing momentarily to pick up his cup and take a sip, eyes casually sweeping the room before going back to whatever he was so busy working on. “He comes in every weekday day at the same time, buys a large cup of Vulcan tea, tells me to keep the change, and sits there from nine thirty-five until twelve twenty-five.” He looked back at McCoy, who was looking at the Vulcan as well.

“What’s his name?”

“I dunno.”

McCoy rolled his eyes, trying to hold back barking laughter at Jim’s obvious crush on the green-blooded hobgoblin. “You know his exact schedule down to the minute, but not his name?”

“It’s not my fault the guy never looks at the clock yet comes and goes at the exact same time every day. I’m… curious.” Jim ducked his head slightly, hiding the light flush on his cheeks.

“Curious what’s in his Vulcan pants.” 

Jim shrugged. “Want more coffee?” He asked, gesturing to the now empty coffee cup in his friend’s hands.

“Only if it’s not all coffee.” He said, shoving the empty white mug across the counter.

Jim grinned, catching the cup swiftly before it fell off the polished wooden counter and became well acquainted with the floor. Which had been his main struggle with this job in the beginning, when he learned that being a master of theoretical physics and mechanical engineering didn’t mean anything toward how good your barista skills are.

The Vulcan had been coming in for three of the six months Jim had been working at _Bean Me Up_ , and his eyes had been drawn to the man from the moment he stepped into the shop. 

Jim remembered clearly. It had been early spring, yet the Vulcan was bundled up as if it was snowing and minus twenty degrees outside, his green tinged nose burrowed into the large and slightly uneven knit scarf wrapped around his neck. He’d stepped up to the counter with the familiar Vulcan demeanor, straight-laced and stoic despite the green cold flushed nose poking out from his scarf that could only scream cute with it’s button like roundness. He asked politely for a cup of Vulcan tea, handed over five credits and said, “Keep the change.”

Jim had smiled as he tried not to spill the tea as he brewed it.

He’d observed the Vulcan every day after that, taking note of what he did, and when he did it. He wanted to know more about him, but getting to know a Vulcan was difficult, and the last time (and also only time) Jim had met one before, he had not made a good impression. Although she hadn’t told him what he’d done wrong, the fact that he could almost see the irritation in her voice was enough to tell him he had fucked up big time to piss off a member of a near emotionless species.

“When have I ever disrespected you like that?” Jim asked, sliding over the flesh and steaming mug of coffee and alcohol.

McCoy lifted the drink in a mock salute before taking a sip, eyebrows raised in amusement.

The two men made an unlikely pair, almost exact opposites of each other, yet the friendship between them was instant and strong. It felt as though they had been friends for years, not just months. Jim was the only one McCoy had told the full story of his messy divorce to, not as if he was secretive about it, it was just a sore subject. Like a fresh wound that had the stitches ripped open every time he got a message from his ex-wife’s lawyer about their daughter.

Just the same, McCoy was one of the few people Jim had openly talked to about his father and family, and the expectation that went with that legacy. He was George Kirk’s kid; everyone expected him to do great things and had told him so since he was a child. Sure, the boy genius with a family legacy and a mother who couldn’t stand to look at him so much that she spent more time up in space than raising him. The woman had left him with Frank for the majority of his childhood until he was old enough to get out. The moment Jim turned sixteen, he left, trading Frank’s fists for the fists random strangers in crappy bars outside city limits.

At least after he left he had alcohol to numb the pain instead of the dead and sorrowful look his mother gave him at home anytime she decided to drop in.

“Excuse me.”

A voice asked, disrupting his conversation with McCoy. Jim glanced up, locking gaze with a pair of dark eyes surrounded by soft and stoic green tinted features. He swallowed hard, the Vulcan was handsome, and breaking the pattern he had used everyday for months by coming back up to the counter.

“Hey, yeah, sorry.” Jim said, finding his voice. “What can I do for ya’?”

The Vulcan raised a single brow at him, in what looked like almost amusement. “May I order another cup of tea?”

He nodded quickly taking the cup from the counter where the Vulcan had set it. “Sure thing.” He turned, getting the tea down from the shelf above. When the Vulcan had first come in, the tea had been in the back, buried in piles of different coffee beans from various roasters. Which wasn’t surprising, even in San Francisco Vulcan’s weren’t the most common species to see wandering around, but after the third day in a row having to dig it up, Jim had set up a special jar for it right up in the front shelf with the rest of the commonly requested teas.

Jim took special care to prepare the tea in the traditional method and for the exact amount of time required, it was another thing he had spent time on after the Vulcan had become a regular, researching everything available to civilians about Vulcans. There wasn’t much about the private species, but he did learn how to properly make their tea. 

Turning back to the counter he set the steaming cup down, his ever charming and successful seductive smile on his face (which so far seemed to have no effect on Vulcans, but it didn’t stop him from trying). Noticing the credits on the counter next to where he set the cup, Jim shook his head and pushed them back at the Vulcan.

“This one is on me.”

The Vulcan tipped his head, brows furrowing in confusion as he paused, most likely sorting out the idiom in his head. “Illogical. Exchanges of goods require payment.”

“Okay…” Jim said, leaning into the counter. “Your name. The payment I require for this cup of tea is for you to tell me your name.” 

He watched the Vulcan think on this for a moment. “How peculiar. I am Spock.”

“I’m Jim.” He said, smile growing wider on his face.

The Vulcan – Spock gave him a strange look as he took his tea, as if Jim was a puzzle that he couldn’t quite figure out, and went back to his table and PADD.

Jim heard a snicker from his right as McCoy hid his mouth with his cup of alcoholic coffee and a muttering of the word ‘illogical’ in a mock monotone voice. “You’ve got it bad.” McCoy shook his head.

He ignored his friend, stealing a glance over at Spock, who was reading intently as he sipped the tea Jim had prepared. He found himself curious if the Vulcan liked how Jim prepared it, not like Spock would ever tell him so, Vulcans after all, but he was still curious if his effort had any effect on him. “He’s never come up for a refill before.” Jim mused.

“Maybe he heard us talking about him.” McCoy said, his voice flat, missing its usual component of sarcasm.

“What?” He looked up at Spock who was sitting at the far table closest to the back wall, as far removed from the rest of the shop as possible. “There’s no way. He’s all the way across the room.”

McCoy tapped his ear. “Vulcans have superior hearing, dunno the extent but maybe he can.”

“And you didn’t tell me this twenty minutes ago?” Jim’s eyes widened slightly. Of course Bones would know more about Vulcan’s than the Internet, his friend did have a xeno-certified doctorate under his belt. He dropped his voice. “What else do you know about Vulcans?”

“Not what’s in their pants if that’s what you’re askin’.”

~*~*~ 

Jim’s anticipation grew as the clock that ticked quietly over his head displayed the time; it was nine thirty-four, which meant anytime in the next minute or so, Spock would walk though the door with his green tipped ears and that brown canvas bag delicately wrapped over his shoulder. He had an almost professor look to him, and something about the way he stood, like he knew more than everyone else in the room. Although he never struck Jim as being a know-it-all or pretentious, just that he knew he was intelligent and wasn’t going to hide it.

It was a good look on Spock. 

Jim had spent all night talking to McCoy about Vulcans, although it turned out that even a doctor certified to treat the species was kept in the dark on most matters unless you trained on-planet or worked on a starship, and even then information was sparse. But aside from that, all he was able to squeeze out of McCoy was that Vulcans have superior hearing and strength, are all vegetarians (although the terminology varies planet to planet but on Vulcan they don’t eat or utilize any animal products), and that their hands are sensitive.

Jim was especially interested in the last piece, knowing that Spock was of a telepathic species, he wondered if it was only their hands or if the sensitivities worked with all skin contact. It would explain why he always wore long sleeves, but that could just be the weather.

At nine thirty-five that next morning the door chimed, and Jim spun around at the record speed, cup of fresh tea in his hands ready to be handed off to the Vulcan in question. Except when his eyes met the person standing in the doorway, it was not Spock at all, but a young Andorian cadet who immediately went over to a table full of his peers from the academy. 

Jim lowered the mug, his face falling slightly in disappointment. It was almost nine thirty-six now, and Spock had never been late before, even by a few seconds, the punctual Vulcan was always right on his usual time. Maybe McCoy had been right, maybe Spock had heard him talking and just decided that he didn’t want to come back to the establishment with the emotional human. It wasn’t like Jim knew him well enough to be upset, but he was curious about the mysterious alien, and felt drawn to him.

And hell, it was disappointing. 

He sighed, setting the full mug down onto the counter next to the espresso machine as the delicate click of ceramic against wood echoed through the room. So much for being able to play up how sweet and attentive he was by having the tea all ready and hot the moment he walked in the door. Spock would have probably called him ‘illogical’ anyway.

Vulcans had a real hard on for logic, a known fact that McCoy had confirmed the other night. There weren’t many Vulcans on earth, which made meeting one a rare experience, it also meant that most common information on Vulcans heard around the Academy was all stereotypes and instances of ‘my cousin’s friend’s best man’s wife’s grandmother met a Vulcan once’, usually followed by more stereotypes and a look of disbelief.

It wasn’t like Vulcans were that rare, it was a flourishing race of people, but they tended to avoid ‘illogical humans’, sticking to the VSA and other larger colonies on various planets they had set up for research and such. It was just unusual to see them on Earth, and as far as Jim knew, he had never seen one walking around the city in a cadet uniform. Which ruled out there being many in the Academy either.

Luckily, McCoy worked with a doctor who had managed to get a internship on Vulcan for a few years after earning his degree, and he had happily brought McCoy up to speed on some basic information, which the doctor had unhappily retold pieces of to Jim.

That’s how he knew the ‘illogical‘ piece of the rumors was true.

Jim picked up the damp rag on the counter, using it to wipe down the nozzle of one of his machines. It was one of the things that made this shop so special, Jim actually had to learn how to make coffee the old fashioned way, not just drip coffee (which he knew how to make quite well already), but all kinds of coffee. Mochas, espressos, cappuccinos, ‘café specials’ (which basically meant Jim just made shit up each time it was ordered, mixing different flavors and hoping it would work. So far, he’d had no complaints), tea, along with putting all his knowledge of intergalactic alcohol to the test. They were the only completely handmade coffee shop within thirty-miles, all the other local shops were mostly replicated, which worked just fine for some of those cadets in a rush to their next diplomacy in xeno-relations course, but taking the time to have a purely old fashioned place paid off big time in the long run.

The liquor license probably helped too. 

Jim hummed along to the soft murmur of 21st century earth music that drifted through the air, Scotty had banned him from playing anything you could use as background for blowing stuff up, which ruled out Beastie Boys, with his full disappointment. Scotty was gone, but if he played anything harder than alternative or indie rock, the all-seeing engineer would somehow know… and be pissed. So Jim played it safe, and stuck to softer ‘coffee shop music’, as McCoy called it.

The chime of the bell that announced a customer entering the shop had been annoying at first, a high pitched ‘ding’ anytime the door was opened, which ranged from intermittent to constant, depending on the day and time. But after a few months he’d tuned it out, the sound became just part of the daily noises in Jim’s life.

After concluding that Spock would indeed not be coming in today, and the clock struck nine-forty, Jim went back to tuning the sound out, only barely registering that he had a new customer to greet as the bell rang. Setting the rag back down on the counter, he looked up, only to meet the gaze of the dark eyes he had been so impatiently waiting for.

“You’re late.” He said, a smile spreading on his face.

Spock tipped his head, the door shutting smoothly behind him as he stepped further into the shop. He was bundled in a thick zippered jacket, hiding his usual styled outfit, although Jim was sure that under the jacket was one of those hand-knit sweaters he always wore. Jim wondered who made them for him; they didn’t look replicated or bought due to the slightly inconsistent stitches in the fabric. 

“I was unaware that I was expected at a specific time.” Spock said as he stepped closer.

Jim noticed that the tip of his pointed ears were flushed a bright green, and grinned. “Nah, you just always show up at the exact same time so this time I had your tea all ready.” He said, grabbing the cup and lifting it at Spock, “It might be cold now, though.”

The cup was still hot against his skin as the mug rested in his hand, stretched out in offering toward the Vulcan across the polished wood counter from him. He made sure to turn up the heating hotter than it was usually set, due to the knowledge that along with weather preferences, Vulcans just had a preference for warmer temperatures in general. He assumed that went for their tea too.

Jim was curious on if he turned up the seventy degree heating in the shop if Spock would ever remove another layer of his clothing, rather than just the winter coat. He’d like to see what was under that sweater.

Spock eyed Jim and the outstretched mug curiously, as if he was debating if he should reach forward and take it. Which seemed odd, considering he had taken tea from him many times before. Why would this time be any different? Unless making tea in advance for a Vulcan was an offence of some sort, but that seemed unlikely.

Still grinning, Jim held it out further.

He watched Spock hesitate before raising his hand up slowly to take the mug, carefully avoiding where Jim’s fingers rested against the dark ceramic. It happened too fast for him to even realize that their fingertips had brushed; warmth consumed him, like an electric current rushing through his body, stemming from the pad of his finger down his spine. The feeling was so fleeting he could barely even tell if it had happened, he would have blamed it on his imagination if not for the shocked look on Spock’s face, which was obvious based on the tightness of his jaw, slightly widened eyes, and the way his hand had retreated so quickly, nearly spilling the tea across the floor.

“Sorry.” He stammered, trying to recover from the lingering warmth he still felt in his arm, tingling like starlight. He set down the mug on the counter, allowing Spock to pick it up without risk of contact. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before, he felt sparks, it burned and yet he only wanted to feel it again.

He felt strange as Spock stared openly at him, quickly recovering from his momentary shock and reverting back to his usual Vulcan gaze of neutrality, looking him up and down quickly before taking the cup from the table, taking a sip. Jim was near entranced watching the way Spock’s lips wrapped around the mug’s rim, and how the muscles in his neck contracted as he swallowed the hot liquid. “The tea is of satisfactory temperature.”

“That’s, uh, good. Yeah. I’m glad it’s satisfactory.”

Spock gave a tight nod, his jaw still tight in an uncomfortable expression of minimal Vulcan emotion.

When Jim was six years old, he jumped off the roof of his mother’s house in Iowa and broke his radius. Winona Kirk had heard his cries and came running out of the house, face shifting between panic and anger as she rushed her son and the bone sticking straight out of his arm to the hospital. She lectured him in the car, questioning why he would ever do something so stupid, that he was smart and should have known better.

He’d looked at his mother’s face, features creased as she drove above the speed limit, she was trying to be angry, but he knew that her fear and concern for him outweighed her irritation. Just as the sadness overwhelmed every other emotion when his only reply was ‘I wanted to see if I could fly’.

The doctor had told him that he was lucky, that it was a clean break and a regenerator should repair most of the damage without a cast, as long as he promised to lay off the arm use for a few weeks. But he was James T. Kirk, which meant that two days later he fell off his bike trying to do a wheelie that put his arm in a cast for the next month. 

He was James T. Kirk. And James T. Kirk took risks; he did things without thinking about the consequences. He did impulsive things to satisfy his curiosity, a trait that he had frequently heard was inherited from his late father. That impulse was probably why he reached out before the Vulcan could set his credit chip on the table, taking it carelessly as he allowed the sparks from their contact to wash over him, radiating in his bones as it traveled up from his fingertips.

Jim heard the mug of tea hit the ground and shatter before he saw Spock’s eyes widen, in what looked like the most extreme showcase of emotion for a Vulcan, almost looking surprised by human standards as he yanked his hand back. Spock stepped backwards, jaw tightened.

It wasn’t very busy at this time of day, but the few cadets currently seated around as they studied or met with friends between classes looked up at the sound of the cup hitting the floor, the unsweetened tea splattering along with the shards of ceramic. The cadets looked in question at the mug and two people that sound had originated from, the shop suddenly felt very quiet as the few seconds of widened eyes and the sharp noise of the mug drew out. Seconds felt like hours as Spock looked at him. As the second ended, the cadets lost interest in the scene playing out before them, going back to their scones and coffee.

Spock stepped backwards, toward the door. “I must depart.” He said quickly, the door to the shop opening before Jim could pull himself together enough to call after him.

“Fuck.”

~*~*~ 

_how do u kno if u pissed a vulcan off?_

He sent the text under the counter, hiding his bad employee behavior from the customers around him. Not like it was that bad anyway, no one was the counter or needing service, and he had long since cleaned up the shattered mug, and Scotty would never fire him. It wasn’t everyday you found a guy willing and able to take over your store at a moments notice while you disappeared to god-knows-where every few months for god-knows-how-long with no warning. It was more for appearance for the customers than to hide his bad habit of texting during work hours from Scotty.

It had been about three hours since Spock had rushed out of _Bean Me Up_ , but Jim could still feel the echo of the electricity that sent shocks up his arm. Or maybe he was just imagining that he could. Either way, the feeling stuck to his mind like a leech, he couldn’t shake the thought and questions that followed. He tapped his communicator against his knee, waiting for the buzz and subsequent yelling that would come from his friend about the unspecific question. The reply came quickly, and Jim glanced quickly around before opening the message.

**_DAMMIT JIM_ **

He couldn’t say that wasn’t exactly the answer he had been expecting; this was McCoy after all. He smirked, quickly typing out an innocent reply to mess with the good doctor.

_what?_

The next reply was almost instant, and Jim could just picture McCoy’s face as he scowled at his communicator, waiting for what he’d have to do to solve whatever Jim did this time.

**_don’t what me, jim. what did you do_ ** ****

_idk_

**_well, you texted me so obviously you did SOMETHING wrong_ **

Jim paused after reading the text, tapping his communicator against his leg and looking out at the still fairly slow shop. There was a beautiful cadet in the corner with her friend that he had noticed come in quite a few times before, the women had books spread out in front of them, with post-it notes stuck onto various pages of the older texts. It was unusual to see cadets, or any students for that matter, with books. Before he was even born books had been declared ‘useless and wasteful’ with PADDs coming into common use. Jim figured that was another demonstration of his rebellious streak, book collector in a bookless world, it was also another thing he had in common with his father.

_yeah i just dunno what i did there was sparks_

The cadet noticed Jim looking at her and shot him a look of irritation, her long dark hair whipping as he turned her gaze from him. Aside from hitting on her a couple of times, he wondered what he did to piss her off so much. Slept with her sibling? That had happened a couple times before. It seemed strange that she kept coming in to _Bean Me Up_ when she showed such obvious distaste for the manager.

Wait…

Was Jim the manager? This was not something Scotty had ever clarified. But you probably wouldn’t abandon a guy with your store for weeks with any semblance of trust unless they were a manager of sorts.

**_cause you want to get in his vulcan pants_ **

_no well yeah but bones like it tingled when i touched his hand_

Small dots appeared on his communicator screen before disappearing and reappearing again. Jim looked back at the women studying; the Orion was now looking at him curiously before whispering at her friend, a smile on her face as the other woman looked horrified, turning back to her PADD. Jim looked back down as a message finally buzzed on his screen.

**_YOU WHAT_ **

Jim had only started to compose a reply when the communicator buzzed again.

**_YOU TOUCHED HIS_ **

Again.

**_JIM_ **

And again.

**_DAMMIT JIM_ **

Shit.

**_YOU ARE AN IDIOT_ **

**_ILL BE THERE IN 10 MINUTES_ **

Risk was a trait that ran in Jim’s entire family. It was something he shared with his father, and even his mother. Despite how many times he saw in her eyes as she associated all his rebellion and gambles with his own safety to his father, Jim shared more with Winona than she could have ever noticed. Right down to the way she ran away when it got too tough to look at the kid with eyes like his father and a smile as bright as the stars he was surrounded by at birth, so she decided she would rather go back to those stars and risk her life every day on the off chance she might one day join George among them.

Risk ran in his family. He smiled at the cadet.

She frowned.

~*~*~

Time was an enigma in this place.

The thought often passed through his head while waiting around on particularly slow days, if Scotty’s shop lived in a crack where relativity didn’t exist, if the clocks really did slow down or speed up for no other reason than to mess with his head. It wouldn’t be the first time such an abnormality decided to affect and attach itself to him. He still received monthly letters from Starfleet asking him to join, going on about his IQ and intellect, the ways he had hacked their highly guarded systems as a teenager, and his test scores as reasons his skills could be ‘best utilized’ in a starship or at the Academy. 

They had stopped bringing his father into it a few years back, but had yet to get the memo that his lack of replies or acceptance to dinner at any admirals house was strongly hinting at his extreme lack or care to their ‘humble opinion’ on the matter of his future or ways they could ‘utilize’ him like one of their many computer programs.

Speaking of those computer programs, they really did need to get someone new to fix those security measures. Hacking Starfleet is to hacking as what freezing ice is to cooking.

The clock ticked at a snails pace, reminding Jim of a paper he wrote in middle school once about supermassive black holes in relation to time travel, although the theory had more to do with just slowing your own aging rate so that when you returned to your home planet you’d still be about the same age as when you left but ten or twenty standard years may have gone by for the planet.

When the teacher told him that his theory wasn’t the most stable idea and that time travel had all ready occurred, he reminded her that both incidents of time travel had been accidental, and had no success at recreation. Despite being sent to the principles office for talking back, he got a hundred percent on his paper.

Almost exactly ten minutes after Jim had received McCoy’s last text, the doctor came bursting through the door. Face creased as his voice loudly billowed through the shop. “Dammit Jim! You touched his hand.”

The bell above the door jingled almost tauntingly as it closed behind the man stalking up to the counter, either oblivious or uncaring of the heads that turned to see what the dramatic entrance was all about. It’s their fault after all. They really should be used to this by now.

“Nice to see you too, Bonesy.” Jim said, pulling out a mug and his personal jug of Andorian ale from under the counter. The shop stocked pretty good liquor, but Jim figured they might want the good stuff from his personal (and sometimes illegal) collection considering how badly it sounds like he fucked up. “What’s with all the hand issues?”

There are a few different variations of shock; it isn’t just one emotion that fits all scenarios, it’s one category of emotion with a million subcategories, and a million subcategories behind each subcategory. But right now, the look on McCoy’s face was similar to the look on Jim’s face that time he reprogrammed his hoverbike to go faster and while zipping through traffic accidently hit a button that he hadn’t completely reprogrammed yet, which sent his bike at nearly two hundred miles down the desert road while the scent of burning rubber filled his lungs.

It took him until the next state line for the solar power to malfunction and finally stop the bike.

“For a genius, you really are an idiot.” McCoy grumbled; sitting down on his usual barstool across from Jim he reached his hand out. “Hand it over.”

“Are you on call?” Jim held back the alcohol just out of reach teasingly, taking in the doctor’s angry scowl.

“Fine. I came to help ya’, but I can leave just as easily.” He said, southern drawl starting to become more prominent in his tired voice as he began to stand from the stool until Jim sighed, pouring a healthy couple servings of the drink into a glass, handing it over.

Andorian ale had one of the highest percentages of alcohol content in the galaxy. In fact, most humans could get blackout drunk drinking only a shot or two of the liquid. Which was why the Federation had to ban its trade on Earth, but due to a few loopholes in the law, if you managed to sneak a case of it in from off planet, it wasn’t illegal to _possess_ and _give_ away. But you still didn’t want to be caught with it, as it was nearly impossible to prove that you didn’t buy or trade for it if they managed to get you on trial.

McCoy raised the glass in a mock salute, savoring his first sip of the liquid, humming in approval before practically swallowing the entire double serving of technically illegal alcohol. “Dammit Jim. You’re a genius that snuck into a years worth of Starfleet classes without anyone noticing but you didn’t know about Vulcan hand sensitivity?”

He shrugged, pouring himself a shot, watching the amber drink fall elegantly into the bottom of the glass. “Hey - I’m a super genius, not a computer.”

“You’re right. The computer piece of that is the hobgoblin’s job.”

“Your xenophobia is showing,” Jim said, tipping the glass into his mouth, relishing the way the ale burned against his throat. “How did you ever become a certified xeno-doctor? That never ceases to astound me.”

The rhetoric question faded in the air of the coffee shop; it didn’t need an answer, because they both already knew how much more McCoy cared for people than he let on. He wanted to help, anyone who needed it, of any species. He might be a fractious divorcee with mild xenophobic inclinations, but Jim had figured out pretty quickly after meeting the guy that all that grumbling was just covering up his teddy bear tendencies.

“Anyway,” He continued keeping the usual light humor to his words to disguise how he was actually concerned that he had offended Spock in some major misconception. “What is it about Vulcan hands I should know but don’t? Is it some cultural telepathic taboo or something?”

He knew he should have slipped into one of those cultural sensitivity classes, despite having thought it would have been completely useless and mind-numbing in everyway to take such a class. He almost had, but only because he had seen that hot chick with the mile long legs go in – Jim’s mind jumped, glancing over McCoy’s shoulder at the two cadets studying that had been shooting him looks all day. Of course, it was that smoking xenolinguistics major he had tried to get into bed with him for like a month.

No wonder she didn’t like him.

“Actually, it is.”

McCoy’s voice cut through Jim’s bouncing thoughts, springing him back to the current issue and away from the two cadets who had yet to notice his look of realization toward them.

“Shit.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t know, it’s probably the most widely known thing about Vulcans. Secretive bastards.” He said, glancing back in the shop where Jim had been looking moments before. “At least I don’t have to worry whether or not you’re allergic to Vulcan saliva for awhile.”

“That was once.”

“You almost died.”

“She was hot.”

McCoy looked maddened. “You almost died.”

“But I didn’t.” He paused. “And this is really a thing you should have told me last night.”

“I’m a doctor not your personal cultural sensitivity professor! Don’t blame me; you’re the one that claims to be a super genius. I assumed you knew the common knowledge on how Vulcan’s kiss.” Jim sputtered, eyes growing wide at McCoy, who continued. “Ya’ know, they kiss like…” He trailed off, holding out his index and middle fingers, the other three tucked against his palm. “The hobgoblins don’t like you touching their hands the same way ya’ wouldn’t want some stranger to come touch ya’ lips.” 

He let out a breath, a half sigh, and half groan as he his head collapsed against his arms on the counter. “You’re telling me I practically assaulted the guy? Twice? No wonder he ran out. Shit.”

McCoy gave him a look of pity, patting the elbow that stuck out from under Jim’s head, letting the silence fill the air around them as Jim wallowed in self-pity for a few moments. “Should I even ask why that cadet is glaring at you?”

Hearing the hard sound of someone clearing their throat, McCoy looked up from his pathetic troublemaker. The thing was, Jim had a tendency to piss people off; you either loved him or hated him. There was no in-between, no toleration, because most people succumbed instantly to his charming smile and words, falling head over heels for the blue-eyed pretty boy. The few who didn’t, well, most of them hated him enough to want to drop him out of orbit for the vacuum of space to deal with. Which is exactly what the angelic, dark haired cadet looked like she wanted to do to him if her glare from where she stood at the cash register had anything to say.

“No…” Jim groaned; face still buried in-between his crossed arms.

He watched the cadet’s face sour even more. “A’right, I won’t ask. But I think she wants coffee.”

Pulling his head up from the crook of his arm he looked over at the irritated cadet standing by the cash register, arms crossed, her long fingers tapping irascibly against the arm of her red uniform. Launching up as he met her eyes, Jim practically ran over to the counter, putting on his best charming smile. Apologies hung in the air as she sighed, amicably telling him her order with no hint of the distaste she held for him evident in her professional voice.

McCoy watched the cadet as she spoke with regal elegance in her voice, words chosen with a sort of precision. Stealing a glance back at the table her friend still sat at, he confirmed his theory that she must have been majoring in some type of language if the xenolinguistics textbook that the Orion cadet was falling asleep over was any indication. Turning back to Jim he saw the cadet take her steaming coffees with care, her long, dark ponytail whipping behind her as she made her way gracefully back to the table, handing one of the cups to her overworked friend before sliding back into her seat. 

“You think she’s hot.”

A voice startled McCoy’s thoughts away from the future communications officer as he turned to see Jim leaning into his personal space, a devilish smile on his face. “No! You know after the ex I ain’t interested in… What?” He exclaimed as the smirk grew on his friend’s face.

Jim shook his head, sitting back on the stool, fingers dancing absently on the vintage book he had stashed under the counter for slow and friendless work hours. “I’m not saying anything.”

“Ain’t like you can judge me anyway. Wasn’t me who assaulted a Vulcan this mornin’.”

He shrugged, the reason for McCoy’s visit weighing heavily on his shoulders. He liked the Vulcan, felt drawn to him, like he was _supposed_ to know him. The fact that he had unknowingly assaulted the guy made him want to vomit. Sure, Jim wasn’t the shyest guy around when it came to trying to convince the person he had set his sights on to give him a chance, but like with the cadet sitting in the shop, he knew when to give up if the person or alien really wasn’t interested and would never resort to assault or harassment. “Any stellar doctor Bones-y advice about that?”

“Just pray that he doesn’t show up tomorrow with the police or an assault charge. But if ya’ want my honest opinion, he ain’t gonna be coming back.” Jim’s face fell as McCoy spoke, a slight nod of acceptance mingled in his disappointment. “Sorry kid. I know you don’t like no-win scenarios, but it’d be best to leave this one. Vulcan’s are like that.”

It was one of the things Jim liked about McCoy, how he gave it to him straight, no sugarcoating or softening the blows in case he wounded anyone’s fragile egos. McCoy was blunt and to the point, an asshole sometimes for sure, but you always knew the guy was telling the truth.

“Thanks, Bones.” He said sadly, watching his friend roll his eyes at the nickname (but he knew McCoy secretly liked it) that after months he had finally stopped protesting Jim using. Only Jim. Anyone else would get that southern accent and ‘dad voice’ talking down to them before they could even finish getting the word out of their mouth.

The nickname had started after the first time the two had gotten drunk together outside of the shop. The grungy underground bar had been filled with smoke, impossible to tell what was from the smoke machine on the stage where the band played and what was from the vape and cigarettes of the people around them. They had sat at the bar, both drinking to wash away memories they wished to forget as McCoy spilled the story of how his ex had left him, taking his child in the divorce after claiming him an ‘unfit’ parent due to his work hours and drinking habit. Although far from a work or alcoholic, the court had agreed. “All I’ve got left is my bones.” McCoy had said into his glass of pungent alien alcohol after telling Jim how his ex-wife had taken everything from him, his practice in Georgia, his house, his savings... how he could have lived with it; until she took his daughter with it all.

Jim had stared at the broken man who had become his best friend since moving from Iowa and pulling his life back together, in debate with what to do for his drunk and hurting friend before ultimately reaching out to put his hand on the man’s shoulder as silent support. It was that night that his friendship with the doctor was solidified into what it was today, it was also that night he realized he wasn’t the only one with a tragic backstory in this city.

“Yeah, yeah.” His friend mumbled brushing off the endearment. “Give me more of the good stuff, I gotta head back to the hospital in an hour.”

~*~*~

Although _Bean Me Up_ opened at six am everyday, it didn’t really get busy until half an hour or twenty minutes before eight, with the rush of cadets wanting their caffeine to go before running to make it to their eight am class. At eight am it mellowed out again, for about an hour, and after that it really depended on the day.

At this point, Jim knew the regular cadets by name; even having a few of the earliest regular’s coffees ready before they arrived. He knew his customers and they knew him, it’s why Scotty kept him around and why the regulars kept coming back. It also helped that Jim made way better coffee than the minimum wage workers at Starbucks.

One cadet had even taken to running the odd question by as he paid, running in shouting about some obscure quantum mechanics theory or a topic brought up in class that he wanted Jim’s opinion on. He had come to like the guy, almost regarding him as a friend, Hikaru Sulu, a cadet on the command track. He often came in with a Russian kid, Pavel, if Jim was remembering the time the kid had eagerly introduced himself in a heavy accent correctly. Smart as a tack, he had heard rumors a few years back that Starfleet had accepted a genius thirteen year old with an IQ to boot but hadn’t truly believed it until the now fifteen year old had engaged him in a conversation about field density and its relationship to gravity phenomena.

He had heard the Russian kid tell his friend happily ‘Ze is as smart as ze told me!’ as they walked back to campus together. The compliment made him smile.

After the morning rush had died down, Jim had pulled his stool closer to the register and settled down on it with his vintage book, the cover was faded, crumbling in places from age. It was rare to find physical books nowadays, after the early versions of PADDs came into existence, printed books faded from existence until the last print closed in the late 21st century. Now any fiction book in print was considered a rare find, no matter the content or genre. The heavy pages of Homer’s Iliad weighed in between his fingertips, the rough scratching of the paper on his skin comforting as he read the classic epic.

_“As long as I am among the living,_

_Until I rise no more; and even if_

_In Hades the dead do not remember,_

_Even there I will remember my dear friend.”_

It was hard to focus on the old favorite as his thoughts continued to drift to Spock, Jim continued to chastise himself for the unintentional assault as their fingers brushed. If only he hadn’t given up on impressing Uhura so soon, he may have caught the cultural sensitivity lecture on Vulcans instead of having to rely on McCoy to pass on relevant info for all his foreign federation member rendezvous’. Or as the doctor continued to exclaim, ‘dammit Jim, I’m a doctor not your personal information database for hooking up.’

The book felt warm and heavy in his hands, it used to be his father’s book, as did a large portion of his personal collection, which just made each tome mean even more to him. It was that passion and love of books that made him feel close to the man he had never gotten to meet. Books had been his escape and temporary home since he was a child, but now he could barely read a line without his mind wandering to the Vulcan.

He could still remember the tingling as it ran from his fingers up his arm, it vibrated within him like a drug, leaving a hole that not even books could fill. But he barely knew Spock, how could he already have this desire, this need to touch him again? He tried to convince himself it was mere curiosity to the unusual sensation, scientific curiosity to the Vulcan culture and physiology.

When the clock struck nine thirty-five, Jim glanced up hopefully at the door, waiting for the bells to jingle, announcing the arrival of the Vulcan bundled up as if it was below freezing and not seventy four degrees. Jim let his gaze fall back to the book that he had yet to flip the page on for half an hour as the lights on the digital clock flashed, silently changing to nine thirty-six. Thus ending his hope that he had any chance of seeing the Vulcan today, or possibly ever.

Time passed slowly with only the occasional customer or page turn to tell him of the passing seconds, the mundane routine boring him to tears as he watched the sun and people passing by outside. A stark contrast to the mellow café he sat within, the jazzy voice of Vera Lynn filling the room along with the expected sounds of quite chatter and ceramic as it touched the table, the sound of brewing coffee warm and welcoming to match.

Jim hadn’t realized how boring managing Scotty’s café was without the Vulcan to watch anymore.

The bell above the door announced the new customer, and he gave a charming smile as a beautiful blonde woman walked in. He put on his charm, the chance to flirt with the young woman was a welcome break to his habitual day-to-day life.

He leaned in, and asked her if she saw anything she liked. She rolled her black eyes, but smiled back, a hint of flirtation in her slightly husky voice as he took her order. He made sure to flaunt his assets as he made the mocha for her. “Betazoid?” He’d asked, handing her the drink.

“Half.” She’d said, taking the drink from his hand.

After she’d left, giving him a playful wink on her way out, the shop began to pick up as cadets finished with morning classes, coming in with PADDs and other studying materials to order coffee, biscuits, tea, or other worldly types of sustenance before they claimed a table to ferociously study on.

“It really isn’t like Professor Spock to cancel class twice in a row.”

Jim’s eyes jumped at the familiar name, turning quickly to the door where the two cadets that made a habit of studying at the shop entered. The Orion cadet’s face was creased with concern as she looked to her friend. Spock. Could it be the same Spock? How many Spock’s could there even be in San Francisco? It had to be his Spock they were talking about. Being a professor just fit the guy.

“Or at all. “ The cadet with long dark hair, Uhura, nodded at her friend. “But he didn’t cancel, we had a substitute.”

The Orion cadet gave an exaggerated eye roll. “He might as well have, it isn’t like Mr. Henderson knows anything about xenolinguistics. He can barely supervise the quizzes.”

It had been two days since the finger touching incident. They said that Spock cancelled class twice in a row. Shit. Fuck. He had caused emotional turmoil to a _Vulcan_. He had unintentionally telepathically assaulted the one species in the galaxy known for their lack of any emotion what so ever, and driven him to be emotionally compromised enough to cancel his class.

McCoy was right, along with going to jail, he was going to end up in the Guinness Book Of Galactic Records for bringing a Vulcan to insanity. They’d make him give a statement for the record book; it would end up being as bad as the entry for the alien that managed to kill a person with bad poetry. ‘Sorry, I thought it was a good idea. Obviously not since you died.’ What would Jim even say is his statement? ‘Sorry I didn’t know that touching a Vulcan could drive them to the very human idea of emotionality, I just thought the guy was hot.” Would that be his legacy?

He would be remembered for all eternity as Jim Kirk, the guy who managed to drive the first Vulcan to insanity.

Jim couldn’t keep his mouth shut as the cadets approached the register. Both women decked in the complete Starfleet issued uniform as always, including the matching red shoulder bag Uhura was in the process of opening to get her credit chip. “What did you say about your Professor?”

Uhura looked up, lips pursed in irritation as if she was about to reply before her friend started to speak, a polite and flirty smile resting on her lips as she let her eyes roam Jim’s body. “Professor Spock? Oh, well,-“

The Orion cadet was cut off as Uhura jumped in. “Nothing that concerns him, Gaila.”

“Come on, love. Don’t be that way, how do you know it doesn’t concern me?” Jim said before winking at Gaila, who shrugged in exasperation at the dispute.

“I’m not your love, or your sweetheart for that matter. I thought we had established this when I reported you for harassment to the Admiral and subsequently had you removed from campus because you weren’t even a real cadet.” Uhura raised her eyebrow as she smirked, looking quite proud at reminding him that she was the one who had foiled his daily sneaking into Starfleet.

He had actually forgotten that it was probably her who reported him, she had threatened a harassment report if he hadn’t stopped showing up at all her classes and clubs, which was when he gave up trying to seduce or impress the cadet. Two days after that, his face had been put on the banned list and there was no way to sneak in without hacking about fifty different Starfleet servers, and lets face it, breaking all those Federation laws just to sneak into a few classes just wasn’t worth it. So he hadn’t bothered. Maybe next year.

Gaila laughed. “You didn’t tell me that’s why you hated Cute Jim, I’ve been wanting to meet the guy who managed to hack those codes for months.” She turned to Jim. “I helped program the cadet recognition system, one day you’ll have to tell me how you got in and made the entire program ignore your presence.”

“Please get him to tell you everything so that you can make sure it never happens again.”

Jim leaned forward. “You are just so sexy and smart, I couldn’t help myself. It’s the two ‘s’ words that describe the perfect woman.”

The eye roll that followed could have been seen from a starship, the irritation of conversing at all with him clear as day.

“Hey,” He continued. “If you really hate me so much, you don’t have to keep coming into my coffee shop. There is a lovely Starbucks right down the street.”

“But Professor Spock doesn’t go there.” Gaila said, a playful smirk growing on her face as she looked at her friend.

Uhura turned to the Orion at record speed. “Gaila.” She said, warningly.

“You have a little thing for your Professor, huh? Happens to the best of us. And I can’t blame you, Spock is very easy on the eyes.”

“So that’s why you want to know about Professor Spock. You should give it up, Vulcan’s don’t do one night stands with blond egotistical baristas who just want to check another species off their list.”

“Although you may find it hard to believe, I actually am concerned about our mutual acquaintance.”

“I’m sure of that.” Sarcasm spread like butter across each syllable. She turned on her heel, hair falling across her back elegantly with each movement. “Lets go get a table.”

Jim watched as Gaila smiled flirtatiously, following her friend deeper into the café, his last chance at finding out if Spock truly hated him disappearing with each step. Jim Kirk didn’t believe in no-win sceneries, it was in his blood, bred into him to never accept, to always push. It was never a possibility unless you tried.

There had to be a way to get Spock to forgive him for the accident, or at least find out why it felt like he had been electrocuted simply by brushing their fingers, and why he craved for it to happen again. Why those feelings lingered in him, waiting to be ignited. Had they always been there? Was it just that he was only painfully aware of them now? Or was it because of that moment that they had appeared? These questions needed answers; they ate at him like a Hokan Antler Beetle to human flesh.

“Please.” Jim called out at the cadets, watching Uhura stop in her tracks, frozen in place as if waiting for him to give her a good enough reason to listen to his obnoxious voice again. “I need to know if Spock’s okay. You said two days and…”

There were a few things Jim expected might happen. The first was that Uhura would laugh at his plea, enjoying that she had reduced the probably more annoying creature in her life to that. The second was that she would make a trademark witty and sarcastic comment, turning around or facing him not required for the burn to lash his skin. The third was that the hole would open under him, sucking him deep into the earths core where he would die slowly as he listened to the distant sound of either option one or two happening. The forth, and least likely in his opinion, was what actually happened. 

Uhura turned around, her shoes clicking across the floor as she reproached. “Spock’s okay.” She said, tipping her head curiously, examining him as if he was a specimen under a microscope.

“That’s… that’s good. But he, uh, cancelled class?”

“Professor Spock is my teacher and advisor, but he’s also my friend.” She said, staring into his eyes, as if challenging him to act like a douche, challenging him to prove her right in her initial analyze of him as San Francisco’s biggest womanizing, manizing, and other-izing asshole. “And as his friend, I can’t tell you what he told me. But if I’m correct, I think you know what happened anyway.”

Even though it was more of a statement than a question, Jim nodded slowly, his thumb rubbing against the spot on his fingers where they had touched subconsciously. “When it happened, I didn’t know about the whole… Can you tell him I’m sorry?”

Uhura nodded satisfied that she had been right in assuming that Jim had been the one Spock had been speaking of when he told her of the person he had shared skin-to-skin contact with at the café, of the person he refused to name, or explain why direct contact had never had this affect on him before that resulted in a necessary period of intense meditation.

Jim’s immediate inquiry after hearing Spock’s name had her suspecting, but it wasn’t until Jim showed genuine concern that she considered he might have felt the connection that Spock described as well. “I’ll tell him you said so.”

After she turned back to her table, Jim went to making the usual two drinks that the cadets ordered, throwing a few tea cookies on a plate as well. He liked this woman; she would be a valuable addition to any crew Starfleet put her on. She was scary as hell. Which also happened to be another good ‘s’ word to describe the perfect woman. Jim figured it was better to keep on her good side, especially with her being friends with Spock and all.

The shop’s communicator ringing pulled Jim from the routine of each coffee, forcing him to brace the device against his shoulder as he answered and continued to do his best at not burning either drink. “Bean Me Up, this is Jim.” He said, keeping the device pressed against his ear. “Scotty is not here… No, I don’t know when he’ll be back… Can I take a message?” The line went quiet, soft voices whispering could barely be made out as Jim waited. It wasn’t unusual for calls like this to come in. Spoiler alert: they never left a message.

“ _Tell Scotty we called when he returns_.”

The voice on the other end said cryptically before the line went dead. Jim shook his head, setting down the communicator as he poured the first coffee into a mug. He always found it difficult to tell Scotty ‘we’ called when ‘we’ doesn’t even bother to leave a name. ‘Yes Scotty, you got another cryptic message from a guy that wants you back ASAP. Who? Nope, no idea who, sorry.’ is normally how the conversation goes.

Sometimes with all the weird events and disappearing acts, Jim wondered if he had inadvertently gotten involved with the United Mafia Of The Galaxy as babysitter for Scotty’s cover job and part time secretary for mysterious calls and emails.

Carefully balancing the two mugs and plate, he carried them to the table the cadets were occupying in the back, both had PADDs out for studying but instead were leaning across the table, talking in hushed voices.

Approaching the table, the two cadets looked up at him, abruptly ending their conversation as Jim set the cups of coffee down in front of each with the cookies set in-between them. “On the house.” He smiled, gesturing at the items he had set down. “Take it as an ‘I forgive you for ruining my fun of sneaking into Starfleet classes and reporting me’.”

Gaila grinned, taking a cookie off the plate. “I’ll forgive you for sabotaging my coding, Cute Jim, if you promise to tell me how you did it one day.”

He nodded; throwing her a wink and turning to give the other cadet his best puppy dog pout that always made at least McCoy forgive him for whatever shit he had pulled that required an apology. It worked with him, most of the time anyway. But the longest McCoy had ever been so mad he didn’t talk to Jim was two days, but that was because he deliberately ate food that he knew he was most likely allergic to just to impress a visiting Ambassador’s son with his ability to swallow the slimy alien dessert so well. He learned his lesson to not piss off Bones again after he ignored every call and text for forty-eight hours. After that time period passed the first thing McCoy said was ‘now remember, we’d never talk again if you were dead’ in the most cantankerous voice before offering Jim a drink of whatever was in his flask that day.

She looked at him skeptically. “Maybe one day I’ll forgive you for that obnoxious behavior you call flirting.”

“Good enough for me.” He said, watching a soft smile grace her lips. “You know it takes more muscles to frown than to smile.”

“Uh huh, and knowing you is why my face is so ripped.” Uhura rolled her eyes as she gave him a look, the smile still lingering on her cheeks.

He smiled at her, spinning on his heel to go back to the counter. Which to his luck had no one waiting for the lone employee to return yet. He really should talk to Scotty about hiring someone to help him out. He was sure there was a cadet that needed a part time job, and he really could use the help, especially when Scotty was away. When was the last time he even had time to take a piss? Before he was out of earshot he heard the two cadets talking in low tones again.

“I get that you hate him, but he is cute.”

“Gaila, no.”

“Objectively, he’s hot. Oh, come on, I know… Jim’s doctor friend is pretty fine too.”

“I’ll admit that the doctor is attractive - in an angry southern way.”

~*~*~

Sometimes, Jim wakes up and thinks that today will be different, more exciting than yesterday. But then today becomes yesterday and tomorrow becomes today, rising with the remarkable realization that it was not more exciting or any different than the day before. _Bean Me Up_ opened as usual, with a few early morning customers as they rushed off to work, with perfect outfits that their faces didn’t match until they choked down a cup of near boiling coffee faster than you could shoot a phaser. They would grumble their order impatiently, and leave a less-than-pleasing tip, but the lack of desire they had for any type of polite chitchat made them tolerable.

It was seven-twenty when Hikaru Sulu came running in, dressed in pristine Starfleet uniform as perusal. The genius Russian kid at his heels, talking with his hands as he explained loudly about how it was ‘za false queztion” as Sulu was writing frantically on his PADD, balanced precariously on his arm as he approached the register. “Jim! You’ll know this one, settle this for us.”

Jim grinned. He did love the moments when he could show off his skills and knowledge to the cadets. “Hit me.”

Lowering the PADD from his face, Sulu looked at Jim seriously. “The Federation is alerted to a disaster on Vulcan. Your starship is in Earth orbit when orders are received to proceed directly to the Vulcan System, and your vessels’ assistance is required within seventy-two hours. What warp factor would be required for you and your crew to arrive safely, and on time?”

“Z’at is impossible.” Chekov mumbled, shaking his head. “Z’at is trick queztion.”

There was currently a break in the stream of cadets waiting for their pre-class coffee, with only two people checking out the case of scones and cookies while chatting idly, so Jim gestured for the two cadets to shuffle to the side with him.

“Impossible.” He said, watching the grin break out on the young Russian’s face. “Even if you decided to put Eugene’s limit to the test and travel at Warp Ten, it would still take you over five days to reach the Vulcan system. Warp Seven is the highest warp factor you could safely travel at for any extended period of time, and even then not the seventeen days it would take to reach Vulcan.”

He grinned, watching the expressions on the two young cadets as they looked at him with admiration. If only that report hadn’t exposed him to Starfleet as a class hijacker, he may have been able to sneak into way more classes than just a years worth. At least they hadn’t noticed the hack on their digital library system yet, that coding was such a mess that he could have hacked into it when he was six, you didn’t even have to worry about a footprint with how cross wired it all was. He doubted they would ever notice the fact that the ridiculous name he had made up wasn’t actually a student, and what Starfleet didn’t know, didn’t hurt them.

“Told zou.”

“Fuck off, Pavel.” Sulu laughed, scribbling frantically on his PADD.

The early morning sun shown brightly through the large false wood framed windows, setting a glow across the café as Jim prepared the coffees that he knew the two debating cadets would wish they had ordered in ten minutes when they had to rush off for class to rush through the doors at the frantic last minute before the professor shut the doors to any overslept cadets.

Thursdays were never particularly exciting days for the shop, or him, but Jim still held out hope that maybe Spock would drop by at nine-thirty-five with his shoulder bag and winter jacket. He couldn’t have been the only one who felt it when they touched, there was no way that electricity had been bad. Spock had cancelled class for two days afterward, which although fifty/fifty on if that was good or bad, Uhura seemed to hate him less than before.

Which gave him immense hope that conceivably he wouldn’t end up in the Guinness Book Of Galactic Records for anything to do with being responsible for the first emotionally unstable Vulcan. They would be back to only his obscure and ever presenting allergies that could end him up in that book. Allergies to unknown saliva would be his great legacy.

Take that, Bones.

A voice broke him from his thoughts about Spock and his future legacy as the ‘man with the strangest allergies in the galaxy’ as the Russian kid started talking at him excitedly. “Ze vould make an exzellent keptin, meeser Jim.”

“So I’ve been told.” Jim said, pouring fresh coffee into a travel cup for the cadet waiting at the cash register. She mumbled thanks as she scanned her credit chip, taking the cup from him. “No plans for that though. This place would collapse without me.”

“Ze father was a great Starfleet-“ Chekov was cut off as Sulu elbowed him in the stomach. “Ah.” He groaned, shooting a look at the cadet as he rubbed this ribcage where the elbow had struck.

“I’d rather not live under that shadow.” He shrugged, taking the order of the next cadet in line. Fuck. The line was growing again; he really could use another set of hands around this place once in a while. He glanced over at the two cadets, watching Chekov shrug at Sulu. “Pavel, right?”

He visibly brightened at Jim remembering his name. “Aye! Pavel Chekov, zir.”

“You seem like a smart kid. If you’re ever looking for a part-time job, I could use a second pair on hands around here. It would be pretty easy to schedule around your classes and I can pay you pretty well. If you’re interested.” If Scotty was going to leave him in charge for weeks at a time with no number or address to reach him at, it was within his rights to decide to hire some kid to help out. Plus, he didn’t actually think Scotty would mind.

Pavel’s eyes widened slightly. “Aye, zir. I vould be wery interested.”

Jim nodded at the overexcited kid as he set both coffees down on the counter in front of them. “Great. Now get going before you’re both late for class.”

Sulu’s eyes flashed with panic as he glanced at the clock, grabbing one of the coffees at random. He took a quick sip before wrinkling his face and switching with Chekov who was making a face of his own down at the unsweetened drink. ‘Thanks, Jim.’ they called in a variation of pronunciations while they disappeared out the door, running toward Starfleet Academy.

There was one thing to be said about working alone at a coffee shop, that once the noise dies down, you basically get paid to sit around and read. At least in Jim’s case, but he wasn’t sure if that was an all over thing, or if it was just a luck-of-the-Kirk’s thing. Which in of itself was a once in a century occurrence, considering the fate his father suffered. Did he even have grandparents? If so, he never met them after his mother starting disappearing off into space, leaving him with Frank. Either way, the luck of an easy job was a once in many generations of luck for him. To summarize, Jim was very glad he had finally taken Scotty up on his offer to scrape himself off the dirty bar floor and come work (or run as it had turned out) _Bean Me Up_.

He picked up the heavy book in his hands, letting the weight rest on his knees as he leaned back against the wall, balancing precariously with his feet tucked up on the small stool. He had almost finished The Iliad (after the seventh reread, he had stopped keeping count of how many times he had read certain books. Rereading was necessary for physical books when they are so hard to come by) once again, having read most of it in the few hours before closing last night.

It would have been smart to bring another book with him from his flat for when this one inevitably ran out of pages. But as McCoy always told him, he’s intelligent, but not always smart. Also, ‘Think ahead for a minute, won’t ya!” while smacking him upside the head. Luckily, McCoy wasn’t around. That man would take any opportunity to slap him.

Thinking about how McCoy would slap him for his lack of forethought was almost enough to distract him from how reading the Iliad reminded him of Spock. Spock and his adorable ears that were always flushed green from the cold when he came in, even if it was seventy degrees outside. Spock and his damn ass proper language and mouth that had probably never said an improper word in his life. Spock and the way Jim was actually disappointed that the tingling in his hand had completely disappeared. He briefly wondered if the Vulcan had telepathically fucked with his brain in the point five seconds they had touched, but quickly dismissed the idea as weird paranoia that had probably rubbed off on him from that space-fearing doctor he called his best friend.

Because, the fact was Jim had a tendency to fall in love with people faster than the protagonists of a winter holiday movie. He had fallen madly in love with his high school sweetheart back in Riverdale. Elissa was beautiful, long blonde hair, sparkling eyes, and a smile that was like looking at the sun in the middle of July. Every guy wanted her. But for a year, Jim had her. Despite his fucked up family and reckless behavior that almost ended him in jail quite a few times, she stayed. And he loved her with his entire soul.

He’d been planning to propose before she broke up with him at graduation, telling him that he’d been a great ‘high school experience’ for dating a bad boy with a motorcycle, but it was time for her to grow up and that staying with his no good, jail bound ass wasn’t going to do her any favors.

He’d fallen madly before and after that experience too, but they all left him for one reason or another… so eventually, Jim stopped letting himself fall. He decided to never stick around long enough to love anyone again. He became what everyone expected he would, a no-good, jail bound, bar hopping loser that snuck out the back door before whoever he had gone home with the night before woke up.

Managing _Bean Me Up_ had changed that; he started slipping back to how he had been without the constant stream of meaningless flirtation in bars and sex in motel rooms. He started getting attached again, remembering the names of customers, asking Chekov to come work part-time, befriending McCoy and Sulu, and…. Spock. The Vulcan that he had somehow managed to become more infatuated with than he had allowed himself to feel for anyone in years

Jumping up to take the order of an Andorian who had just entered the shop, Jim was jostled from his thoughts about McCoy’s paranoid ramblings about telepathic species and mind control and how that could make an excellent book, except he’d have to change it from telepathic to robot or tech control unless he wanted it to offend a huge portion of Federation species.

He smiled politely as he took the order, although he already knew what the guy would want, Andorians only ever came here because they carried the type of dehydrated bean to make a specialized drink that currently was impossible to replicate correctly. It was also impossible for any human to pronounce the drink or name of the bean, which was why the option on the board had no Standard translation. It wasn’t like any sane human would order the bean drink that smelled like drying tar and garden dirt anyway. Well, one. But he said ‘sane human’ and Nyota never ordered it again after tossing the first one in the trash.

Jim felt a shiver run through his body as he finished stirring the drink to pass to the waiting Andorian, brushing off the strange reappearance of the static like tingles in his fingers. “Here ya’ go.” He smiled, handing off the mug of steaming liquid that he still held reservations over if it wasn’t actual tar merely disguised as the unusual dehydrated space beans. The Andorian nodded, taking the drink off the counter and turning around to take one of the vacant seats.

Slouching back onto his stool, Jim reached to pick up his PADD, curious if the monthly edition of reading his full name followed with ‘we would be pleased if you reconsidered our offer of entrance into Starfleet’s cadet program…’ had arrived for prompt deletion yet. The PADD lit up as he adjusted his grip, a message from McCoy blinking happily up on the middle of the screen in reply to the conversation they had been having prior to coming into work.

_‘Nothing will ever get you into these pants. But with flattery like that, it may get you a couple detox hypos.’_

Because of this momentary distraction due to Jim smirking at his friend’s answer to his obnoxious ongoing (mostly) platonic flirting and began to type out a response, he didn’t notice that the person he had been wishing for had entered the café until said person in question was standing barely three feet from him.

At the ever-familiar feeling that usually accompanies the act of someone staring at you, Jim looked up. “Spock.” The words fell from his lips; Jim was unable to tear his gaze away from the deep chocolate colored eyes that met his own with intensity.

Spock stood at the counter, directly across from him, but leaving enough space that there was an obvious separation. The stiff feline like grace was evident even in the way he stood, regal and strong. He was lacking a jacket today, knit sweater somewhat loose on his narrow frame with a scarf draped elegantly around his neck. The tip of his nose was slightly green from what was most likely still cool weather for him, even if it was nicely warm and sunny by standard San Francisco standards.

All thoughts fell from Jim’s head as his focus zeroed in on the Vulcan, all senses directed at the way he eyed Jim with concentration, pointed eyebrows furrowed as he assessed the situation. “Hello, Jim.”

The separation was nearly unbearable, it was ridiculous the draw Jim felt to move closer, to connect their fingers again. He wondered if Spock felt the same, or if the distance he set was one of disgruntled anger at Jim’s inappropriate hand grope. With Jim’s luck, he really should expect to just be handed a restraining order or get a long lecture before never seeing the Vulcan again. He had used up his entire family name’s next century of luck by not dying of alcohol poisoning, Orion pheromones, or hitting on those girlfriends/un-gendered/other gendered/boyfriends of men and aliens three times the size of him. He had McCoy to thank for his continued life in a majority of those life-threatening situations, but McCoy wasn’t here to save him now.

“I, uh, I just wanted…” Jim trailed off, rambling as he tried to organize his thoughts. “I told Uhura to, because I thought you wouldn’t come back, but she doesn’t like me so I don’t know if she actually did, and anyway… uh.“ 

Spock’s eyebrow rose high on his head as Jim spoke rapidly. “May I order some tea?” 

Nodding frantically, Jim turned quickly from the counter to take down the Vulcan tea from the shelf above the small sink used to rinse out espresso shot glasses and mixing devices. Spock moved to sit at the bar, taking the seat across from where Jim had stood moments before, his posture stiff and emotionless as he carefully watched Jim go about making the bitter tea of his home planet, studying every movement.

Jim tried to ignore the feeling of the Vulcan’s penetrating eyes on him as he poured the hot water over the tea leaf mixture, filling the air around him with the scent not dissimilar to cinnamon, mixed with an indefinable spice, with its light bitter reminiscent of desert winds and low tides at hot beaches.

It smelled like the melody from one of those old songs from the Middle East, rich with history and vehement desert winds. For years he’d lived off being a suave and seductive person, relying on his flirtation skills for weeks at a time, going to bars to find a bed to sleep in each night when he didn’t have a place to crash and no credit for a motel.

“Here.” He smiled, setting the mug of (perfectly, if the eighteen times he watched the tutorial on the Academy’s library of cultural rituals had anything to say about it) classically prepared Vulcan tea on the counter, carefully avoiding any of that offensive hand contact like last time.

He stood uncomfortably in front of the silent Vulcan, debating if he should stay and say something, if Spock was going to say something, or if he should bug out and leave him to his tea. Spock looked vaguely uncomfortable as well, his posture and features even more stiff, filled with more stoic emotionless emotion than usual. Before Jim could open his mouth to try and apologize for his gross offense of hand kissing assault, Spock had started to speak. 

“I am here to offer my apologies for my behavior three point zero point one days ago, along with any negative effect my improperly raised shields may have had on you.”

Jim sputtered, at a loss for why Spock would be trying to apologize for anything here. “What? You’re apologizing? I’m the one who needs to apologize. Get down on my knees and kiss your shoes-“

“It seems highly illogical to ‘kiss my shoes’ and has nothing to do with your unnecessary apology.”

Jim pulled back, taking in the contemplative look on Spock’s face. After what McCoy told him, it seemed absolutely impossible that the unintentional kiss could have done anything except anger, or at least annoy. But Spock seemed to find it unintelligible. “I practically assaulted you. I didn’t know that hands were so significant to Vulcan’s, but I fucking hand kissed you without your permission, of course I have to apologize for that. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to punch me.” 

Spock blinked slowly at him, hands resting properly on his lap, tea steaming in the mug between them. “Violence is illogical and not the Vulcan way. If necessary, a neck pinch is more effective to halt an attack.”

“Oh. Well, it’s an expression. Kinda. I just mean I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me or got a restraining order against my ass that really should have taken a cultural sensitivity course.”

“Ah.” Spock said, raising the mug of steaming liquid to his lips, taking a long sip. “That is an needless offer, I feel no desire to punch you.”

This situation was almost as confusing as the time Jim was nearly forced into marriage with a visiting humanoid due to planetary customs and her obsession with sleeping with an alien.

“You’re cute.” His mouth quirked up at the corner at the confirmation that Spock didn’t feel the desire to kill him currently, the shock as he heard the words leave his lips quickly smoothed over as a pale green blush fell over the Vulcan’s cheeks at the compliment. He smiled at the blushing Vulcan for a moment before the words Spock said a few moments ago about his lowered shields finally sinking in as he remembered the shots on electricity up his arm and the way that they had tingled warmly for hours after the short contact. “Your shields, when he touched I felt…” He trailed off before the word ‘sparks’ could leave his lips. “I felt, like, electricity.” Dammit Jim. Electricity, yeah that’s way less harlequin romance books than sparks. Good thinking. Not. 

Spock seemed to tense at the words, his jaw tightening. “As I stated, my shields were not at optimal efficiency and I was unprepared for the way our minds reached out to each other. It is extremely… uncommon in psi-null species except in rare circumstances of one in eighty billion point eight nine three.”

Suddenly it started to come together in Jim’s head why Spock had apologized. It was telepathy, and Spock did feel it too. Which if the Vulcan lessons McCoy had given him had anything to say about it, was taboo and offensive to use without permission. “So it was telepathy.”

“Affirmative. Your mind was,” Spock paused just long enough to glace back up at Jim. “Extremely dynamic. It was unlike any mind I have felt before. It was quite unexpected.”

“Is that Vulcan for saying I’m totally hot?” Jim joked, picking up the rag by the espresso machine for something to do with his hands while consumed in slightly awkward conversation, his easy confidence slipping back into his voice after learning that he officially wouldn’t end up being interviewed for any Galactic Records book for emotionally destroying a Vulcan’s psych.

Spock flushed deeper, if even possible, eyes darting to focus over Jim’s shoulder rather than looking him in the eyes.

‘No shit. It is. Isn’t it? You think my mind is sexy.” His eyes widened as the casual joke turned into discovering an actual compliment within the proper words.

He didn’t answer right away, lips parted in consideration. “Although it is different, that comparison would not be inaccurate. Like humans and physical attraction, mental attraction is what draws us to one we are…” He paused, obviously trying to find the correct words that wouldn’t send Jim running from the strange differences in species and culture. “Compatible with.”

Jim let a smile begin to grow on his lips, slowly stretching into a full grin. He really couldn’t wait to rub it in McCoy’s face that not only had Spock come back into the shop, but he also Vulcan mind liked him because of his sexy dynamic brain. “Well, in human attraction terms, I think you’re pretty hot too.” He paused before speaking again. “And, uh, if that feeling when we touched was your mind, I liked that too.”

Spock gave him a sharp nod; head ducked down just far enough to hide the twitch his lips gave in was most likely the closest a Vulcan could ever come to a smile in their life. “I find that gratifying.”

He thought for a moment in the silence before sitting back at his stool across from the Vulcan, letting his arm relax on the table so his hand rested between them in a silent and hopefully not too obvious offering. He watched as Spock’s eyes darted from his eyes down to his offered hand and back again, eyebrow raising slightly as he moved his hand from his lap with slow intention, he curled all but his middle and index fingers elegantly into his palm, holding the two fingers up to Jim. 

Lips parting as he eyed the outstretched fingers and Spock’s face void of any shown intention to the action, Jim raised his hand, careful to mimic the hand position as he held up his fingers. A cautious smile broke out on his face as Spock moved his fingers closer to his, unable to tear his eyes away as the spaced closed between them. Jim felt a shiver run down his spine as Spock grazed his fingertips gently with his own, the touch was light, and filled with those same warm tingles that had accompanied the last time they had been in contact.

Unlike last time, they spread slowly up his arm, rather than sharp and fast as they had before. It reminded him of that first sip of hot chocolate after coming in from a snowstorm, the way you could feel it warm your body as it went down your throat, thick and sweet like home.

He looked up from their linked fingers as Spock began to move his fingers down the side of Jim’s toward his wrist, intensifying the feelings it stirred within him. Looking up at Spock’s face, who was already watching him with curiosity, eyes looking quickly between his eyes and their fingers, gauging his reaction.

“Is this how Vulcan’s kiss?” Jim asked, surprised at how breathy his voice sounded.

Spock nodded once, dragging his fingers back up Jim’s hand, pausing the movement at Jim’s fingertips again before pulling away. The tingling in his hand faded, to a dull hum as Spock moved his hand back to the mug of tea. “It is equitable to what Humans would call a kiss. It is an appropriate way to publically express affection towards another.”

Jim felt the smirk growing on his face before he could stop it. He had accidently emotionally compromised a Vulcan it seemed, because he really didn’t think it was usual for one to openly express emotion twice in ten years, let alone in less than ten minutes. “So, does that mean I can ask if you’d like to go to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“I am unavailable tomorrow due to a prior commitment. Tonight would be an acceptable day for dinner if you are available.”

The grin broadened on his face. “Tonight? I can do that.” Jim quickly pulled out his PADD and passed it to Spock. “Give me your comm number.”

He watched the Vulcan take the PADD and put in his number, wondering if it was appropriate to call even the way he typed elegant or if that was just going too far with his extraterrestrial crush on the guy and his graceful green tinted fingers with the best telepathic abilities… But then again, Spock was the one who just suggested they have their first date today and Vulcan kissed him.

Jim was jostled from his lingering thoughts of Spock’s hands by his PADD being handed back and Spock’s voice breaking though the air.

“Nyota has asked me to inquire as to your friend the doctor’s relationship status, I believe that she finds him a desirable partner but does not want to approach him if he is in a previously agreed upon partnership.” He tipped his head at Jim as he sipped at his tea as Jim let out a laugh in reply.

“I knew it. Tell her that she should ‘inquire’ to him herself, Bones was wondering the same thing about her.” He smirked, he knew she liked McCoy, and they already had their hate for everything Jim did to bond over. That could certainly take a few dates to cover. If either of them could hear him now they would probably tell him to stop being so self centered, a great example of all they had in common.

Spock raised his eyebrow, agreement crossing his eyes before he slowly switched back to the overly stiff uncomfortable look he had finally relaxed from after their shared kiss.

“Out with it.” Jim said, picking up on the subtle clues. “Come on, what’s wrong?”

He set down the mug, his lips pressed in a thin line, conveying the seriousness of his thoughts. “Vulcans do not engage in casual relationships. We are a monogamous species and do not enter personal relationships without direct intent that it will lead to bonding.”

“Okay.” Jim felt almost shocked at himself as the words left his lips without any hesitation or consideration. On one hand, he was shocked how quickly he had agreed, but on the other hand, he wasn’t. He felt that spark, that connection, or was Spock called it ‘mental compatibility’, It felt like potential, As if he and Spock were already connected by some telepathic force pulling them together, and he kind of already wanted to keep it around. Damn. Scotty was right that working here would change him. “Okay.” He repeated, reaffirming his words to both himself and the person in front of him.

He was James T. Kirk. He took risks, he jumped off roofs, he punched people in bars, he fell in love too fast, he almost accidentally got married, he jumped out of shuttles, he ran away from the place he was supposed to call home, he slept with people just to not be alone, and he accidently didn’t assault kiss Vulcans without permission. He was a Kirk, and Kirk’s jumped in the deep end.

Spock almost immediately relaxed as he agreed, standing from the chair at the counter and straightening his sweater, making it obvious that Jim had given him the answer he had wanted to hear. “I must return to work at this time.”

“And I have to find a nice vegan restaurant for us tonight.” Jim said, recalling how McCoy had mentioned that Vulcans all find the consumption of animals illogical in their Vulcan culture lessons. “I’ll message you where and when?”

“That is agreeable.”

“Okay, good.” He said, his issue with not being completely sure how to end the exchange with the Vulcan he would be seeing again in a mere few hours put on hold as Spock readjusted his shoulder bag and reached out his middle and index fingers to Jim, who reached out and met his fingers with his own, thrown back into the tingles that encompassed him once again.

Spock met his gaze, his face softer than it had been since he had walked in. “I find myself pleased at the prospect of your contact.”

“Me too.”

Their fingertips lingered together in soft touch.

Jim smiled.


End file.
